Strange
by xhere.there.nowherex
Summary: Takes place after "Northwest Passage" but Peter decides to NOT leave with Walternate, and ends up seeking comfort from a certain blonde not the one you'd immediately assume . I was feeling kind of angsty, and this was tugging at my mind.
1. Confusion

**Okay so here's the deal. I got kind of tired with writing post-finale. Also, my laptop has told me that the S.M.A.R.T. thingy has detected IMMINENT FAILURE. Meaning that my laptop is going to crash any day now. Tragic. So I had to go buy flashdrives to back up all of my files. And now I'm currently saving up for a new laptop. It's between another HP or a purple(my favorite color) Toshiba. I've just got to do a bit of research before I decide. ANYWAY, the point is, while my laptop was in imminent failure mode, my muse returned and I was struck with this crazy idea that I just had to play with. Chapter One is pretty innocent, but Chapter Two is not (and not in a smutty way). So, it is my intention to rile you good people up with what I intend to do ;) (have no fear, it will all turn out alright in the end) For now, I'm making this T because there is no reason for it to be M (until later).**

**The gist of this is that it takes place directly after Northwest Passage, and that Peter did NOT leave with Walternate. **

**By the way, my brain is insisting on asking WHERE THE HELL IS NEWTON? He is obviously still on our side. Why? If Walternate had planned to destroy our universe, why leave one of his top men over here? What is Newton doing? I'M SORRY FOR MY MINI RANT BUT I JUST REALLY NEED SEASON THREE, LIKE, THIRTY DAYS AGO. **

**_Oh, and obviously I do not own Fringe or any of it's characters or situations or anything related therein._ I just do this for fun, and because I'm slowly losing my mind. DOWN WITH SUMMER HELLATUS.**

**Also, before I forget (and I apologize for rambling on like this but) this is the first time I've written from a specific character's first-person point of view, so let me know how I did. It really wasn't that easy for me, because when I write, the whole thing plays out in my mind and occurs all at the same time and I am essentially just observing it. Oh, and I tend to listen to music when I write. This chapter was fueled by an absolutely amazing song called Strange by Tokio Hote ft. Kerli from the Almost Alice soundtrack =)**

**Okay, I think I'm done now, so, ENJOY! **

* * *

**PETER**

I awoke to the faint sounds of a bustling hospital. I could hear someone breathing over me. I tried to open my eyes, but my lids felt so heavy. Each breath in and out caused an aching to ricochet through my entire being. I'd never felt like this before. Sure, I'd been in massive amounts of pain, but this, this was different, strange. My head was throbbing, my muscles were sore, and I felt very disoriented. I didn't know which was worse, the physical pain, or the emotional pain. When I finally opened my eyes, everything was a blur. I tried harder to focus. Blonde hair and a warm smile greeted my tired eyes. Olivia. I focused on her smile. It was so genuine. She looked so relieved. For a second, guilt flashed through my mind at how angry I was at her. But no, she had betrayed my trust, she deserved my anger. "Welcome back." I heard her state. She knew. Liar. I forced a smile as she offered me ice. I wanted her out of here. I needed to confront Walter. Besides, if I had to stare at that concerned expression on her face for another minute I would eventually not be angry with her. I wasn't ready to not be angry with her. I was still too hurt, and I was nowhere near ready to let it go. As soon as I could, I was going to get the hell out of here and run as far and as fast as possible from this poisonous place. Away from these liars.

I thought of this as I sat on the motel bed. I no longer had even a vague semblance of an idea as to who I was anymore. Apparently, I was worth killing for, whatever the implications of that fact were. The bitter thought crossed my mind as I glanced down at the disc Krista had made me. Peter Bishop from Boston. With hearts instead of "O's". What the hell. I placed it into my CD player, put on the headphones, and lay back. A faint smile flickers across my face. I love Band of Horses. Suddenly, I feel a presence in my room. There is a gun pointed at me and I shoot up so quickly the room spins momentarily. It's Newton. I don't stand a chance against him from where I am, but he doesn't move to kill me. He looks over his shoulder and beckons for someone deemed "Mr. Secretary." I cannot hide the complete and utter shock as my father, _my father_, the Walter from the alternate universe, enters my room. I'm just sitting here with my hands in the air, dumbfounded, looking like an idiot, or at least feeling like one.

"**_Hello, son,_**" he says to me.

"Hello," I stutter back questioningly, lowering my hands.

"You've no idea how long I've been trying to cross over," he told me, in a tone that was more matter-of-fact than anything else. I stared back at him, blankly. My mind was unable to process the situation fast enough. I felt like I was lagging behind. He crossed the room, and for whatever reason, I followed. He spoke again, "**_I can take you back where you belong, son. They have our coordinates. But if you come with me, you won't be able to come back here. You have to make a choice, Peter._**"

Again I stare at him like a simpleton. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice is telling me that this is all just too much and it's begging me to run. Running away from my problems is what I do best, at least it was until... I shake my head to focus. I need to give this man an answer.

"I," I begin, but my voice falters. I need to continue, "I can't. At least not yet. I'm not ready. I need some time."

A grim expression crosses his face as he reluctantly nods his head and grumbles out a terse, "Fine."

He motions to Newton, "Come, we have business to attend to."

"But sir?" Newton seems confused. Join the club.

"Now," The Secretary's voice is commanding.

He heads out the door of my motel room, and Newton follows. "Sir, you haven't come all this way just to..." and his voice trails off as they are now out of my earshot.

Crossing again to the bed, I sit down, rubbing my hands over my face. "So," my mind begins to piece things together, but instead, it comes out a long string of tangled yarn, "Newton works for my actual father, who is the Secretary of... of something, but what? Doesn't matter, his position makes him Newton's boss, or superior, or whatever. Newton tried to kill my fath- Walter, this Walter. Newton's shape-shifters, are really his shape-shifters? They have continually, on several separate occasions, tried to kill Olivia. Newton follows orders. My father's orders, the Secretary's orders. He ordered those hits. He wants Olivia dead. Olivia." My mind pauses and focuses on the subject of Olivia Dunham, and before I can stave it off, images flood into my brain. Her smile, that laugh that I solicited in the bar, those eyes so full of every emotion ever known to man and then some. "Stop." I tell my own mind. My eyes burn as I feel the sting of the saltwater, blinking back the tears I will not allow to fall. I stand and start packing. There is someone that I need to speak to.

* * *

**OLIVIA**

The plane ride was nearly unbearable. Although I hated to admit it to even myself, I couldn't tell who was more anxious, Walter or me. For five hours, he sat, or rather, bounced, and fidgeted in his seat. He made several trips to the restroom, and twice I had to assure the flight attendant that he would settle down. I looked at Walter, staring out the rental car window as we drove through Washington. He looked so sad and so scared, like a terrified child. Overall, this was his fault, the Cortexiphan trials that started this, that was his fault, and Bell's of course, but he wasn't here to take the blame, so it had all fallen on Walter. That wasn't fair. However, this specific situation, Peter leaving, this, this was my fault. Peter had every right to be mad. I don't blame him for running. I won't blame him if he refuses to forgive me. Though, I desperately want him to. Then maybe I can forgive myself for what I've done.

I turn into a motel parking lot, park the sedan, and take a deep breath. "Walter," I spoke softly, "we're here. Are you coming in with me?"

He looks like a startled animal backed into a corner, "No," he murmurs, "I think I'll wait in the car."

He didn't say why. He didn't have to. I shake my head and pat his arm, giving him a reassuring smile, even though I wasn't sure of anything. I lock the car behind me, force of habit I guess, and head to the front desk. A short, stocky, middle-aged man stood behind the desk. I notice he has crumbs in his goatee. I grimace slightly. He peers at me from behind the rims of his reading glasses.

"Can I help you with something?" he asks curiously.

I flash my badge, and he stands up straighter, apparently nervous. "Yes," I state, "I'm looking for this man." I show him a picture of Peter. Relief and recognition flit across his face as he realizes I am only interested in speaking with one of his guests.

He glances down at his records, and shuffles back and forth through the pages, "Ah, yes," he says, "Man by the name of Gene. Gene Cowan. Room four."

Despite the unfortunate circumstances that brought me to this motel and the pain that I wouldn't admit that I was feeling, I laugh. Gene Cowan? Clever. I laugh again. The man behind the desk eyes me cautiously as he hands me a key to the room. I just turn and walk down the hall, shaking my head, still smiling.

However, the smile quickly dissipates when I come face-to-face with an unlocked door to an empty room. I walk slowly through the room, surveying every centimeter. I was too late. Again. I'm always too late. I always fail. I failed to stop the shape-shifters from retrieving Newton; I nearly failed to tap into my ability in time to save those people in the building that transferred itself to the other side. If it weren't for Peter, I wouldn't have been able to see it in time. Peter. More failure. I failed to tell Peter the truth. About himself, where he was from, what had happened to him as a child, about my feelings towards him. Failure, after failure, after failure. I suddenly feel very unqualified to do this job. The comforter of the bed is wrinkled. I sit down on it. It's still warm. He couldn't have left too long ago. I close my eyes and blow a deep breath of air out of my mouth.

"Hello, Olivia," a familiar voice taunts.

My eyes fly open. They're met with the black barrel of a gun. "Newton," I state in a tone that conveys more emotion than I'd have liked.

He smirks at me as Walter enters the room. But Walter is wearing a suit and looks very well put together. My minor confusion lasts only a second as I realize this is the other Walter, or as my Walter would call him, "Walternate." I swallow hard.

"Where is Peter?" I demand, looking past the gun Newton has pointed directly at me to Walternate.

A fiendish smile graces his lips. "Funny," he mutters, "I was going to ask you the same question."

I'm so beyond confused at this point that I hardly know what to do. I listen as he gives a short explanation.

"I offered to take my son back to his rightful home with me; however, he turned me down. Thing is, though, I will not leave without him. Something is holding him here, or, now I can see, someone." There is a smugness to his tone that sends a chill down my spine.

"What?" I ask dumbly.

He doesn't waste time and bluntly asks, "How long have you and my son been romantically involved?"

I blink. What the hell? Romantically involved? I speak, "No, we aren't. We're just. I...he... No." I think to myself how very profound the words tumbling off of my lips must sound. I wonder what would give him the impression that Peter and I were...are...romantically... My mind brakes hard and I feel my pulse quicken. My feelings for Peter swell to the surface and more than anything at this very moment I want him here with me.

"You're not romantically involved with my son?" Walternate questions disbelievingly, as though he knows otherwise. I shake my head "no" and he scoffs, "You know, I've been watching the two of you for months now. It's quite apparent that you are in love with my son, so there is no need to lie."

I lower my head and bite back tears that have been fighting to pour out of my eyes from the moment I'd seen Peter's glimmer. "We are not involved," I reiterate firmly. A "hmming" noise escapes Walternate's lips. For whatever reason, my mind chooses this exact instant to remember my Walter, alone in the car. I quickly raise my head and adrenaline takes over as I realize that I very much need to get out of here not only to get myself and Walter back to the safety of Boston, but also to find Peter, again, and protect him from this wicked man.

Newton obviously wasn't expecting me to fight them. I base this assessment off of the shocked expression on his face as I knock the gun out of his hand and it skitters across the floor, under the nightstand. I reach for my gun, but before I can un-holster it, his fist collides with my face. I feel my lip split open; the scent and taste of iron fill my senses as I feel blood trickling down my chin. I knee his balls hard, and drive a powerful fist into his abdomen. His fist again aims for my face and catches my right eye. With all the force in my being, I deliver several painful blows to his body and he falls to the floor, writhing in pain, unable to fight back. I smile, satisfied, but Walternate slaps the satisfaction right off of my face, literally. His hands grip around both of my upper arms and he's squeezing with such force that it's sure to leave bruises. He pins me to the wall and I'm squirming under his firm grasp, trying to free myself, but it's futile. The next second his hand is around my neck and I can hardly breathe. He tightens his grasp and I feel my eyes widen from the pressure of struggling to breathe. My heart is pounding in my chest.

His face is mere inches from mine as he goads, "I will find him, and he will return with me. I will get him back."

A flash of sentience graces my mind and I reach for my gun. I pull the trigger. He falls to the floor grabbing his leg, howling in immense pain. I bolt out of the room, and slow the pace to a brisk walk past the suspecting guests in the lobby. I hit the button twice and the car beeps as it unlocks. I slam the door shut and floor it.

"Olivia, what happened?" Walter's voice is coated with concern.

"Nothing, he wasn't there," I try to come off sounding somewhat calm and at the least collected, but I'm still shaken.

"Are you alright? Who did this to you? Who was there?" Walter is pleading with me.

I stare at him and swallow. Something dawns on his face and he asks, "Was it me? The other me?"

I nod and add, "Newton too."

"Oh God," I hear Walter groan. He looks even more distraught then before.

"What is it, Walter?" The concern in my voice is audibly growing.

"I can't remember, but I just know that it's something awful, and it has to do with Peter and why they want him back," he was near tears.

I decided not to press him any further, and drive on more determined than ever to find Peter.

* * *

**I have the rest of this in my head, the following chapters, I mean. So, writing them is not the issue. Finding the time, though, will be difficult. I promise to make it worth the wait if you stick with me on this. I know, I'm evil. Just wait 'til you see what happens next ;)**


	2. Mistakes

**Uh-oh. Troubled waters ahead! (Now suddenly I'm feeling like watching PotC) I'm sorry these chapters are so long. I can't help myself, I just get carried away. Holy crap it's 2AM my time! I haven't been up this late (or is it early?) in, like, a month! WHOA. Sorry. Chapter three...it'll be up soon-ish. It's in my head. Not yet in Word.**

* * *

**OLIVIA**

"Dunham?" Broyles sounds surprised to see me again so soon.

"Sir," I start, my voice wavering. He waits patiently for me to continue, purposely ignoring my battle wounds, something I'm thankful for. "When I arrived at the motel in Washington, Peter had already moved on." I look down at my feet.

"And?" he can tell there is more.

"Newton and the Walter from the alternate universe were there. They wanted to take Peter back over, sir. Our Walter seems to think that they have an ulterior motive, but he can remember exactly what it is that they want with him." I pause momentarily before pushing forward, "I think it'd be advisable to place a protective detail on Walter, just to be safe, and maybe we should alert local law enforcement agencies on the West Coast that we are looking for Peter?"

He stared back at me with a serious expression. "I've already alerted several law enforcement agencies to be on the lookout for Peter, and I'll get on the protective detail for Walter." His complacency somewhat surprises me, and if I didn't know better I'd be grateful. However, his giving in means that he is concerned, which frightens me somewhat.

I nod slightly at him and utter a simple, "Thank you, sir." I turn to leave his office.

When I'm halfway out his door he tells me, "You'll find him, Dunham."

I just look at him and then shut the door behind me. I wish I could be as certain as he seemed to be. I feel so lost, so I decide to do the only thing that I can think of for the time being.

I'm sitting at the bar downing my third (or is it my fourth?) glass of whiskey. I bite into a sip that bites me right back and revel in the burning sensation as the alcohol glides down the back of my throat. I know that the whiskey isn't exactly helping me solve my problems, but it isn't hurting either. I take another swig. I'm slightly annoyed with the bartender, who has been watching me the entire time. He blinked at me when I'd ordered my drink. What? Like a woman can't handle her whiskey? I was certainly showing him. Just like I'd shown Peter. Two was most certainly nowhere near my limit. Peter. I swirl the liquid around in my glass and stare into it, allowing my mind to travel down the precarious path of Peter Bishop. God, I really screwed this one up. Lying to Peter may have been my biggest mistake yet. I know that he must know that I lied. He's intelligent; he probably put two and two together. I am able to pick out objects from the other universe by seeing their glimmer. He's from over there, so he must have a glimmer, which I can obviously see. Sometimes, I wish that I couldn't see it. Another swig of my whiskey and I'm devilishly close to the bottom of this glass. I can feel anger and self-hatred welling up from somewhere deep within me. This is all my fault. This is my mistake, my mess, and I need to fix it. I feel like I've set everything on fire and I'm just sitting here, watching it burn, not doing a damn thing to make it right again. One last gulp and my glass is empty. I place a bill under the empty glass and exit the bar with a purpose. I know exactly who I need to talk to, to get me focused.

* * *

**PETER**

I approach the door to the very familiar apartment. I've been here before, though it was when someone else resided here. I try not to think of what, or who, this place reminds me of. I'm a well of emotions as I knock on the door. Why I am here seeking comfort from her, I am not sure. Nevertheless, I am here and my knuckles are rapping on the door. She opens it and is clearly surprised to see me. Before she can say anything, my lips are pressed firmly into hers. My hand cups her face, but it doesn't feel right. I feel wrong and dirty and ashamed. I feel her squirm as she pushes herself away from me.

"Peter?" Rachel's voice is incredulous.

"I'm sorry." It's all I can manage to sputter out.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, sounding concerned. Then she looks at me, and really sees me. She tells me, "You look awful. What's wrong?" She pauses, and pain flashes across her face before she adds, "Is Liv alright?"

I look up from the spot on the floor I'd been staring at. "Olivia is fine" I tell her, but my tone is bitter and she notices.

"Peter, are you okay? What happened?" she asks again. She crosses to me and rests a hand on my arm while guiding me to the couch. She sits down next to me and waits for my response.

My hands are folded in my lap and I look from them to her. "She lied to me, kept a really serious secret from me," I tell her.

Rachel nods. She shifts on the couch. "Peter," she explains, "I've found that usually, when Liv lies to me, or keeps something from me, or anyone for that matter, it's because she is trying to protect someone she cares about." She looks at me, knowingly, and continues, "I've told you before, Peter, she likes you." She was about to say something else, but a small voice interrupts her.

"Hi, Peter!" Ella beams at me.

"Hey, Ella," I smile back at her. She's so sweet and innocent, and her happiness is so pure it's almost contagious.

"You're back from your vacation? Aunt Liv is going to be really excited! She really missed you," Ella speaks quickly in her childlike excitement, but her words cause something in the pit of my stomach to churn and I feel even more miserable, which I didn't think was possible.

Rachel's hand covers her eyes in exasperation, "Go back to bed, baby." Ella obeys her mother, but not before pouting disappointedly.

"I'm sorry," I offer again.

"No, Peter, it's okay," she reassures me.

"I messed up," I begin, "Coming here, what I did, it was..."

"A mistake." She states. "I know," she looks at me, speaking softly, "I won't tell her if you don't."

I look at her, wondering, but she tells me, "You like her too." I wait a few seconds before changing the subject.

"So, vacation, huh?" I ask, wanting to know how much Olivia has told her sister.

"Oh, that's just what I told Ella. Olivia told me something happened and you left, but I didn't want Ella to know," she pauses, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I look at her and explain, "I'm not even sure where to begin, and if I did, you'd probably think I was insane."

She laughs softly, shaking her head. We hear Ella stirring in her room again. Rachel glances from her daughter's room to something across the room. Then she looks at me, "Do you mind if I put some music on? It'll help drown out the noise so she can't hear us talking." I nod and she crosses the room and hits play on the stereo. An idiotic smile plants itself on my face, but I can't help it.

"What?" she asks, somewhat amused at my smile.

"I love Band of Horses," I explain. I almost can't believe my ears as their music fills the air.

She looks momentarily confused before realizing I'm talking about the music. "Oh," she clarifies, "this isn't my CD. It's Liv's. She left it here last week."

My head involuntarily falls. I feel so distraught. Somewhere inside of me, I am aching again, but it isn't from physical pain. It's from a need that I have been denying for a long, long time. I feel Rachel sit on the couch next to me again.

"Peter," she speaks gently, "it's going to be okay." I close my eyes. She speaks again, "You'll find it in yourself to forgive her. You'll be alright again." Her arms envelope me in a comforting embrace, and she places a kiss upon my cheek, but this kiss isn't romantic or passionate. It's kind and platonic. There is a knock on the door. We both know that there is only one other person who would dare visit Rachel at this hour. She looks at me, as if she's waiting for me to tell her what to do.

"I can't face her yet, Rach," I mumble, "I can't."

She nods, and heads to the door. She opens it and steps halfway out, holding the doorknob in her hand behind her. I listen to their conversation.

"Liv?" Rachel questions, wondering if something is wrong.

"I'm sorry, Rach," Olivia sounds wrong, almost scared, and that is definitely not like her at all.

"Olivia, what happened to you?" Rachel sounds overly concerned, and I lean forward on the couch, but before Olivia responds, Rachel speaks, "God, Liv, that smell is so strong, have you been drinking?" Olivia must've nodded, because Rachel asks, "Liv, are you okay?"

* * *

**OLIVIA**

I'm not exactly sure what I was doing at my old apartment, the one I'd sold to Rachel. I wasn't sure of anything anymore, so I needed someone to talk to, to clear my head. Even though I couldn't tell Rachel everything, I could at least talk to her, which seemed to help most of the time. She answers the door, but doesn't let me in, probably because it's late and she doesn't want to wake Ella. She looks at me with wild eyes, noticing my bruised eye and split lip. I'm thankful for the jacket that shields my neck and arms from her.

When I finally respond to her questions, my words spill out rapidly, "No, Rach. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to look anymore and I can't find him. I almost did, but by the time I got there he was already gone. Rachel, I don't know what to do anymore, I feel so lost."

Rachel leans forward to hug me and I gladly accept her sisterly affection. I take a deep breath and it hits me. That scent. I know it. It isn't Rachel, and it's distinctly male. I breathe it in again, and she must notice because I feel her muscles tense in our embrace. I pull back and look at her. Anxiety is scrawled across her face. She realizes that I know something is amiss.

"Liv," she pleads, "please don't be mad."

"Is he here?" I ask furiously, feeling absolutely betrayed. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I find it ironic, but the anger is seeping so quickly through my entire being that I don't care.

When she doesn't answer, I push past her into my old apartment. There he is, sitting on her couch. He stands up, almost defensively.

"Olivia." My name on his lips. It doesn't register properly because I'm so enraged. I look from him back to my sister. His scent in her hair, on her clothes. Her lip gloss is noticeably smudged. I know instantly what is going on, or what I deduce is going on.

I hear my CD playing, which only serves to further my infuriation. I storm across the room and yank it out of the stereo. "This is mine," I state possessively, not entirely speaking of the disc. I place it in its case and head for the door.

"Liv, it's not what you think," Rachel tries to speak calmly. I don't believe her.

"How could you?" I snap at her, now more angrily because tears have started rolling down my cheeks, "You're my sister! I trust you. This is unforgivable, Rachel."

"Liv," she starts to try to explain, but I'm already out the door walking as fast as I can.

"Don't bother," I say bitterly without turning back to face her. I just continue walking. I walked here from the bar. I realize now what a stupid idea it was.

"Liv? Liv! Liv, wait!" I hear her calling after me from where she stands.

I ignore her and only pick up my pace. I want to run. If I wasn't so tipsy, I would run, but right now I don't trust the connection from my brain to the muscles that control my legs and feet so I just walk as briskly as I can, still sobbing and still pissed as hell. I instantly hate everything, Peter, my sister, this job, and most of all, myself. I push on through the darkness. The street lights offer the only illumination in the emptiness that is the middle of the night. Suddenly, I hear footsteps running after me. I ignore them and again pick up my pace.

"Olivia!" I hear Peter yell as he chases after me. I just continue to ignore him. "Olivia! Olivia, stop! STOP!" So I do, abruptly.


	3. Forgiveness

**Haha I started writing this at like 3AM and passed out halfway through. I finished it later during the day but then people started showing up for this party we had. Anyways, I've had a few and I need to sleep on some ideas of where to take this next. Probably the next chapter will make the rating go up to M. Just FYI. I apologize for this truly disappointing, boring author's note, as I pride myself on being entertaining, but my mind is moving at the pace of a snail.**

* * *

**PETER**

She stops so abruptly that I nearly collide with her. I position myself about a foot from her and I breathe in and out raggedly. I'm tired, I still ache, and she wasn't exactly easy to catch up with. She spins quickly on her heels and practically shouts at me, "WHAT?" She is livid, but I'm not entirely sure why. I also notice that tears are streaking down her face.

"Olivia," I breathe out somewhat softly.

"What?" her voice is tinged with her crying.

"Olivia," I murmur again, placing a hand on her shoulder, which she promptly shrugs off.

"No," she protests firmly. I cock my head at her, hoping she will let me explain. But she huffs at me, "Leave me alone, Peter. Go back to Rachel. If you want to be with my sister, that's fine. I don't care." She breathes out her last three words heavily, for emphasis.

"No," I state simply. She looks at me disbelievingly. "Nothing happened, Olivia," I start explaining, hoping that she'll listen, "I just needed someone to talk to."

She scoffs and turns her face away from me. "And to kiss?" she adds with sour sarcasm.

"I don't know why I did that," I confess. Her head snaps around to look at me again, and then she looks down, shaking her head. "It was wrong, and I'm sorry, but it was nothing compared to what you've done to me," I tell her, but as soon as the words leave my mouth I regret it.

She looks at me and says, "Look, Peter, I'm sorry that I lied to you, and I know it was wrong. But what you did, _with my sister_, I just can't accept that. So, just go."

She turns and starts to walk away, but I can't let her go, so I reach out and touch her arm. She winces, but just continues walking. At least this time I can keep up with her.

"Olivia, _nothing happened_. We didn't do anything. I just kissed her. It was wrong. I don't...we don't have those kinds of feelings for each other. Rachel and I, we're just friends," I offer, hoping to stop her again, or at least slow her down.

"I thought we were friends," she nearly whispers.

"We are," I tell her.

"Oh, really? Could've fooled me," her tone is full of cynicism.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask her desperately. I stop walking.

She walks a few feet, then stops and turns to face me again. "You left, Peter," she finally explains, "You left me here, alone, to deal with all this shit, and I can't do it without you. You know that. _You left_ _me_. And now I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm not good enough. I was not a good enough reason for you to stay. I am never good enough." She stops and lets out a heavy breath, clearly fighting back more tears. She turns and walks away from me again.

I feel a hot tear trace its way down my cheek, and I say in a soft whisper, "You _are_ good enough."

At first, I'm not sure she hears me, but as she continues walking I see her shake her head. I quicken my pace to catch her again. I place my hand on her arm, which causes her to wince yet again. Not sure whether I'm feeling bold or desperate or both, my hand goes to her waist and I turn her towards me.

* * *

**OLIVIA**

He touches my arm, right at the bruise. It's tender so I wince and instantly feel defeated, again. I try to keep walking, I can see my car only a few feet away, but the next thing I feel is the pressure of his hand on my waist as he turns me towards him. I'm so surprised that I just stare at his hand, resting on my waist. I expect him to remove it once he realizes I've stopped, but he doesn't. It just sits there and I just stare at it. I feel his eyes on me, and my attention focuses on them. I can see a faint trace of a single tear that he had probably tried not to shed. I already know that my own face is streaked with tears, and a few bruises and cuts, which thankfully are hidden by the shadows cast from the streetlamps. Our eyes lock and I expect it to feel tense and awkward, but it doesn't. Suddenly, I feel somewhat calm and safe and I hate him for that. I pride myself on my independence, but for whatever reason, I've allowed myself to come to depend, at least partially, on him.

"Olivia," he speaks softly, "you are good enough."

I swallow. I've been hurt before. I won't let it happen again. I counter, "Then why did you leave, Peter?"

"I was hurt, and confused. I felt lost. You can't imagine what I went through," he tells me, in a tone that indicates I should at least understand this much already. And I do, but that isn't what I mean. He knows what I mean.

"Fine," I grumble and turn to get to my car.

"I didn't think that you cared," he says, and his words stop me dead in my tracks.

So I turn, and I look at him. His face is only a few inches from mine. "Peter," my voice is softer than normal and I'm fighting back tears again, so very unlike me. "Peter, I do care. When you were gone, after you left," my voice breaks so I pause, and then continue so quickly I'm nearly tripping over my words, "I was so worried. I couldn't eat, or sleep. I kept thinking 'What if something happens to him?' 'What if he gets hurt, or worse?' and it's all my fault. I have no one to blame but myself. How could I do this? How could I be so stupid?"

He stands there silently, not saying anything, just staring at me. I assume he must still be upset with me. I shift slightly, and glance back at my car, wanting to just leave so I can go home and wallow, alone, in my misery, like I always do.

But then he speaks, "I'm sorry." His voice is near a whisper and shaded with pain and obvious pangs of guilt as he repeats himself, "I am so sorry."

I want to tell him. I know I should tell him. Right now. Exactly how I feel. But I've never been good at putting my feelings into words. I've always been better at showing. All I know is that I need to do something, because if I don't, I feel as though I'll explode with regret. So, I do the only logical thing that my body and mind tell me to do.

I place my hand carefully at the nape of his neck, and tilting my head slightly, I lean up slowly, pulling him into a gentle, yet passionate kiss. Although my eyes are closed, I can tell that he is somewhat surprised, as it takes him a second to respond. But when he does, oh God. I feel him wrap his arm around my waist and pull me tightly into him. He cups my face with his other hand, and gently brushes a tear from my cheek. Unable to resist, I run my hand through his hair and press my lips more firmly into his. His tongue glides across my lip, begging for entrance, which I would have more than willingly given him had he not pulled back.

I know why he pulled back. He must have tasted the blood from my split lip. He studies my lips intently and I see his brows knit concernedly. He gently brushes my hair out of my face and turns me so the light shines directly on my cuts and bruises.

"Olivia," he sounds worried and extremely guilty, "what happened to you?"

"Nothing," I mutter, "Peter, I'm fine." It's not his fault.

His hand runs down my shoulder, and then my arm and again I cringe when he reaches my bruise. He knows something isn't right. He seemingly accepts my answer and tells me, "I'm taking you home." He holds out a hand expectantly. I look at him undecidedly.

"What?" he says, "You didn't actually think I was going to let you drive, did you? You smell, and taste," he smiles, "like a distillery."

I begrudgingly hand over my keys and he smirks victoriously. Pain in the ass he may be, I still love him. Wait. Did I just admit that to myself? Anxiety travels down my spine, causing me to shiver, but this is a good kind of anxiety and I like it. Peter notices and draws me in closer to him as he walks me to my car and settles me into the passenger seat. I hear the engine rumble to life, and as he backs out of the space, I look up into the night sky and thank whomever or whatever that he is back.


	4. Heat

**DEFINITELY upping the rating because of this chapter. Sorry it took so long, but I put a great deal of effort into my smut. I literally spent HOURS writing it and had Howl by Florence and The Machine on repeat _forever_ while writing the explicit bits. I cannot write in silence. If I do, I feel as though people can hear my thoughts. Weird, I know. Anyway, the second half of this (the smut) was actually written first because I was really struck with inspiration yesterday, but then it got late and I was kind of ~eh~ with the first half, not sure what exactly to do about it, but then No One's Gonna Love You (obviously) by Band of Horses came to my rescue along with Corner of Your Heart by Ingrid Michaelson (goodness I love that song).**

**So, without any further nonsensical ramblings from yours truly, have at it ;)**

* * *

**PETER**

I glance over at Olivia quickly, eyeing the album she has resting in her lap. Her fingers are tapping the case lightly. Feeling fairly empowered by the fact that she handed her keys over, I reach for the disc and pop it into her SUV's CD player. She looks at me, intrigued.

"What?" I ask her.

"You like Band of Horses?" she asks curiously.

"I love Band of Horses," I tell her conclusively.

She smiles brilliantly at me, and I can't help but grin back at her. I skip ahead a few tracks to "No One's Gonna Love You" and I see her blush lightly as she stares out her window. I wish I could express my feelings for her as eloquently as the song does, but for now I drive silently, unsure of what to say.

Several minutes pass in silence, but it's not awkward. It's more peaceful than anything, really. I risk another glance over at Olivia, and see that she is sleeping. Her head is resting against her hand on the window, and her other hand is curled beneath her chin. She looks so serene and unburdened, and beautiful. I think to myself that I could watch her like this for eternity, but as I pull into her assigned space and put the car in park, I know I need to wake her to get her inside, where she'll be safe.

"Olivia," I speak softly, nudging her gently. She awakens with a stir, stretches, and looks around.

* * *

**OLIVIA**

"Olivia," I hear a gentle voice call my name and feel someone prodding me. I jump slightly, stretch, and survey my surroundings. I'm in my car; my car is in the parking lot of my apartment complex. Peter drove.

"Peter," I smile at him. I unfasten my seatbelt, open my door, and step out of my SUV. I stumble briefly, more tired than I'd given myself credit for. I feel slightly guilty for falling asleep on the drive home. Peter takes my hand.

"Here," he offers, "let me help you."

I gripe, "Peter, I'm fine."

"You know," he retorts, "you keep saying that, and each time, I believe you less and less."

I can't help but laugh. I hear him chuckle. I search frantically on my person for my keys, turning out all of my pockets. Before I'm too panic-stricken, I hear him laugh louder. He dangles my keys in front of my face, smirking.

"Right," I mumble a bit humiliated, having temporarily forgotten that he drove me home.

I unlock the door to my apartment, flick on the light, and assume that he'll follow. When he doesn't, I grab his hand and pull him in. He looks at me apprehensively.

"Do you have somewhere better to stay?" I answer him rationally.

He shrugs, "No." And it's understood that he's staying here, with me.

I slip off my shoes, slide my jacket off, and hang it in the closet next to the door. I look at him, waiting for him to do the same. He hesitates, and then obliges. A smile adorns my lips when my hands run over his jacket as I'm hanging it in the closet.

"Do you want something to eat? Or anything to drink?" I ask him earnestly. He declines politely, with a smile.

I remove my suit jacket, revealing my short-sleeved blouse, exposing the hand-shaped bruises on my upper arms and around my neck. His smile quickly fades.

"Olivia," he sounds so serious, "what happened to you?"

I turn away from him as I reply, "I went to Washington. I ran into Newton."

"He did this to you?" he sounds angry and guilty and protective.

"Just this," I indicate my face. He looks confused. I decide against lying to him again. It didn't work out so well the first time. This time, I go with the truth, "I met your father."

He pales. If I'm not mistaken, he even looks a tad green. "What?" his response is barely audible.

"I don't think he likes me very much," I try to make light of the situation, and let out a laugh, but it sounds and feels hollow, and he notices.

"He hurt you," he's trying to get a hold on what has happened, "Why?"

"He's convinced that I'm the reason you didn't leave with him. He told me he won't go back without you. He needs you for something," I explain. He looks sickened and guilt-ridden and I just want him to stop blaming himself for this. I tell him, "Anyway, it's not that bad, Peter, and besides, I shot him," horror makes a fleeting appearance on his face, so I quickly recover, "just in the leg. No permanent damage, just enough to immobilize him so I could escape. I'm sorry."

He stands there silently, again. I shift my gaze to my bare feet, and then to his. I look up when I hear him speak, "No, Olivia, I'm sorry."

I cross to where he's standing so that we're only a few inches apart and I tell him compellingly, "Peter, it is not your fault."

"You should get some rest," he tells me. Rest is the furthest thing from my mind at the moment.

* * *

**PETER**

She is staring me dead in the eye, like she's daring me to touch her. I can't resist her any longer. I grip her waist and pull her into me. I run my free hand through her hair and fervently lower my lips onto hers. She wraps her arms around my neck and grinds into me as her tongue begs for entrance. I welcome her graciously and gladly return the favor as she pulls mine into her mouth. There is something possessive in the way she's kissing back, which awakens something within me that I've ignored for a long time. I feel her hands tugging at the hem of my shirt. She pulls back and lifts it over my head. A lustrous smile graces her lips as she studies my form, and I suddenly feel very, very warm. Her hands travel up and down my chest, as though she's trying to memorize me through touch.

I decide it's time to level the playing field and I slowly begin unbuttoning her blouse as I begin kissing her again. I slide her bra straps off of her shoulders, carefully avoiding her bruises. The bruises my father left on her. I hate him for doing this to her, and I blame myself. I feel her groan into our kiss and she bites my lower lip, which reins my focus entirely back into her, right where it should be. I cup her breasts in my hands as her bra falls to the floor. When I run my thumbs over her hardening nipples, her body arcs into mine, and she gasps as she throws her head back. I take advantage of this moment and press my lips to her neck. I drag my teeth across her pulse and suck, gently. She lets out the most sensual moan I've ever heard. I hear her whisper into my ear, "Peter, make love to me." Then she bites down on my lobe and sucks it into her mouth. I nearly lose all consciousness when she does this.

The next thing that I'm aware of is her hands toying with my belt and the clinking sound it makes when the buckle hits her wooden floor. I hear the sound of her undoing my zipper and feel my jeans slide down my legs. Her lips find mine and her hands grip my waist as she guides me into her bedroom. I run my hands down her sides slowly, and unbutton her pants, which fall gracefully to the floor. She wrenches her panties down and then removes my boxers. She handles me expertly, and _good God_, she is really teasing me now.

My back hits the mattress. "Olivia," I grunt her name out, slightly shocked. I wasn't expecting her to take control with such force. I look into her passionate eyes, consumed with lustful desire, and I fear I've unleashed something feral within her. She's pinning me down with a desperation that I cannot place until I hear her cry out softly, "Peter, please don't leave me." "Olivia," this time when her name escapes my lips it's a long, breathless sigh. I try to find the words to prove to her that I will not, cannot, leave her, but all higher thought processes escape my brain as she glides down onto me. She surrounds me completely and I lose myself in her, literally. She is warm and wet, and more than welcoming. Her pale skin glows softly in the moonlight cascading through the window, and I'm certain I've never seen anything so beautiful. My blood is coursing through my veins, all heading for a single destination, and I'm harder than I ever remember being before.

I let out a deep, husky groan as she lifts up and lowers herself, rocking me. She does this a few more times, and my hips begin rolling up to meet hers. Once we've built up a nice rhythm, I decide to get creative. I grasp her hips steadying her as I angle myself beneath her. I thrust into her, with every intention to drive it home. Apparently, I'm successful because I feel her nails dig into the skin on my back as she groans out, "Oh God, Peter." She grinds into me more forcefully and picks up her pace. We're both panting feverishly, and I know we're close to sharing our moment because the heat between us is so intense it feels as though our skin will melt and our bones will somehow meld together. I'm thrusting urgently into her with frantic need. I coast over a spot within her that edges her even closer. As I feel myself preparing to spill into her, I suddenly realize that she's going to do it. She is going to make me scream, and there is nothing I can do to control myself. I slither over her spot again and this time, it's enough to shove both of us completely over the edge. Her release washes over me as I pour myself into her. I hear her screaming in extreme pleasure. Her screams are met with my own, and I'm calling her name repeatedly.

She collapses onto me, and we're both completely spent. Our breathing is ragged, but oddly in sync, and we're both glistening with sweat. She rests her head and one of her hands on my chest, listening to my heartbeat until our breathing returns to normal. She gently rolls off of me and I pull her into my arms.

She tilts her head to look up at me and begins, "Peter," my gaze shifts down to her as she continues, "I love you."

Her confession is so unexpected that I'm taken aback and am unable to immediately respond. However, words are not necessary, as she pulls me into a passionate kiss. When our lips break contact, I look at her, studying her intently and admiring every inch.

"You're beautiful," I tell her.

She leans up and kisses my cheek. "Goodnight, Peter," she says as she turns on her side, wrapping my arm around her.

She's nearly asleep and I'm very close to drifting off. I breathe in her scent, and as I breathe out, I finally tell her, "I love you, too, Olivia." Even though she isn't facing me, I feel her smile as she closes her eyes.


	5. Predicaments Pt 1

**Okay. Wow. First of all, I AM SO SORRY THAT I TOOK FORFREAKINGEVER TO UPDATE THIS. This really terrible thing called life kept getting in the way, and it insisted I do this treacherous activity called work. COMPLETE TORTURE. SERIOUSLY. So, all I've wanted to do lately is sleep. **

**Originally, I intended this chapter to only be half smut and half actual story, but uh...I got really super carried away with it...so...in attempt to make up for not updating, HAVE SOME PETER/OLIVIA SMUT.**

**OLIVIA**

I breathe in deeply and refuse to open my eyes just yet. I'm in that state that's still half asleep, yet half awake. He's awake. I can feel his eyes on me. His arm is still wrapped gently around me. I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips and unyieldingly plasters itself on my face. I allow my eyes to flutter open, and I slowly roll over to face him. He's smiling down at me, looking brilliantly handsome, illuminated by the sunlight streaking in through the curtained window.

"Hi," I say stupidly, still smiling, feeling maybe a little bit like an idiot.

"Good morning," he says, his voice still husky and tinged with sleep.

"What time is it?" I ask. He twists away from me, crooking his neck to glance at the clock on my nightstand.

"8:30," he mutters, still groggy.

A look of genuine surprise flashes across my face. I can't remember the last time I'd slept until 8:30.

He notices, and asks curiously, "What?"

"Nothing," I laugh softly, then close the short distance between us and kiss him gently.

As I do this, I press my body into his and can feel the remnants of something he seems to have been trying to quell while lying awake next to me. His mildly aroused state turns me on and my body instantly begins demanding more. Unable to resist, I tenderly grind my hips into his, snaking my arms around his neck in order to pull him on top of me.

He pulls out of the kiss and groans out my name, "Olivia?" The look on his face is questioning my intentions, wondering if I really want this now, again.

"Peter, please," I say nearly breathlessly as I arch my body off the bed, rising to meet him, brushing up against his erection, which is now fuller than before. He moans. Loudly.

This time, I'm willing to surrender myself completely to him. I figure it's his turn to be on top anyway, especially after last night. I feel his powerful hands part my thighs, and expect him to slide right in. But he doesn't. He's kneeling between my legs. When I look at him, I'm met with a devilish smirk. He leans down so that his face is only inches above mine, looking dark and mysterious with an unnaturally wicked grin, but before I can question what he's doing, his fingers plunge into me with an uncontained vigor that causes me to shudder and rips a heady groan from my core. I feel myself growing hotter by the second and I am getting very, very wet. His eyes bore into mine and the heat intensifies. I am moaning helplessly beneath him, and he is looking extremely pleased with himself. Bastard. Not that I mind it, I'm actually quite enjoying myself beyond what words could adequately describe. I'm just not used to not being fully in control, and he's being very dominant, which slightly irritates my independent-strong-willed-woman personality. I gasp loudly and hear him chuckle. He knows _exactly_ what he is doing.

"Damn it, Peter," I grumble frustratedly, my voice sounding far more guttural than I thought it would.

He moves down my body. I feel his fingers slip out of me and his tongue dart in. I groan again. He flicks his tongue in and out, massaging my insides, and I am biting my lip trying to contain myself as best as I can, but the effort is growing futile. I run my hands through his hair and pull him back up. He shakes his head at me.

"You have no patience," he growls, placing kisses down my jawline, neck, and all over my chest.

"Yeah, well, you're cheating," I retort back at him, breathing heavily.

He laughs sympathetically and cups my breasts, rubbing tantalizing circles around my nipples. He runs his hands down my sides slowly and I gasp.

"Get in me," I insist vehemently.

Instead, he sits back. I look at him, and he is beckoning me with his hand.

"What?" I ask, clearly confused.

"Get up," he demands.

I hitch myself up on my elbows, and he tells me, "Yeah, just like that."

"What?" this time I'm more plaintive, ready to beg him.

"Watch," he commands.

I've never actually watched the act of a man penetrating me. My curiosity gets the better of me and my eyes are glued to his long, hard shaft, now hovering centimeters away from where I want it to be.

"Fine," I yield, "just..."

He cuts me off, "I heard you the first time," then he adds with a depraved growl, "sweetheart."

I watch as he slowly, too slowly, lowers himself, angling his hips, and slides gracefully into me. We both moan with the satisfaction of being connected again. My hips rise involuntary up to meet him. As he presses down into me, I wrap my legs around him and grind into him. I hear him groan as his breath catches in his throat. This time I chuckle at him. He pants out another moan and begins thrusting into me. It doesn't take him long to have me breathless. I'm panting feverishly and what's left of my breath catches in my chest, trapped by passion. I'm hopelessly grasping at the mattress, the sheets, my headboard, trying to restrain myself as he rocks me. I soon realize a strong need to hold onto him. My hands land on his ass and squeeze tightly, trying to force him deeper into me with each of his thrusts.

"More, Peter. More," I implore with fervent desperation.

"Alright," he answers quickly, "hold on, babe."

It's only then that I notice that he is panting just as frantically as I am. His hands grip the backs of my knees and push my legs up. He readjusts his angle and thrusts vigorously into me again with all the strength of his being. The first of a plethora of screams tumbles from my mouth, barreling out of my gut and up through my chest. I continue screaming as he repeatedly thrusts into me, my hips restlessly trying to greet his, and I feel as though I'm falling into a blissful oblivion. He groans throatily. I feel my body begin to tremble as I try avidly to hold on, waiting for him.

"Let it go," I hear his voice, "Olivia," I groan deafeningly at the sound of my name, "let it go!" He's practically shouting at me.

I feel him spill into me as I come around him. The pleasure is so intense that it's almost painful, which makes me scream more, his name left in a helpless, panted stutter on my lips.

"Say it, say my name," he demands, and I don't just say it, I scream it out loud, frankly not giving a damn who hears me.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed that =)**

**Because what's coming up next is CONFLICT. Not sure when I'll get a chance to write it.**


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